


Hold on to This Feeling

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Series: Liaisons [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Foe Yay, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Multi, Orgy, Polyamory, Rape Recovery, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-27
Updated: 2008-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had Johnny been willing to talk about sex during his competitive years, he would've had a lot to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold on to This Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as "Les Liaisons."

I think I confused the figure skating community immensely the first two years after my breakup, going from one-man man to a slut. Well, except that Drew and I weren't completely exclusive, though we were fairly close at times, and even now they still don't call me a slut, because I'm in fact a lot pickier about whom I sleep with than many a skater. They probably still don't see any point in gossiping about me, when they can gossip about Tomas Verner instead, or Ryan Bradley, or Nathalie Pechelat. Or Isabelle Delobel, at least whenever she has one of those crazy spells with her boyfriend. Particularly about Isabelle Delobel and Ryan Bradley and one embarrassing incident that happened in Paris last November. Ryan still blushes whenever anyone so much as mentions the words "France" or "French." Besides, I think you seriously have to be 50-50 bisexual just to rack up the numbers the figure skating community requires to qualify you as a slut.  
  
I, on the other hand, have set my ground rules. Noone who ever actually cheated on someone else-not just had arrangements with them, but slept with someone whom they knew their lover wouldn't allow, noone who's ever tried to exercise "podium privileges" over me, as at least one young skater learned the hard way, and these days no intranational competitors-except Evan, because I've been having one-night stands with him on and off since before I set that rule, at least whenever neither of us was off-limits.  
  
I admit, sometimes I get into pretty surprising situations. For instance, there was one evening where I was visiting Melissa and Denis, somehow it came up in conversation that she had a voyeuristic kink, and next thing I knew, I was stretched out on their bed, Melissa pinning my hands above my head while Denis sucked me off. I'm not entirely sure anyone mentioned to me beforehand she had a bondage kink too. I didn't care, though, not when Denis can do absolutely amazing things with his tongue, and Melissa was whispering unbelievably filthy things in my ear, mostly along the lines of how badly she wanted to fuck me when I was like this, how sexy I looked, and how I wasn't going to believe what Denis was going to do to me next, and how she hoped it made me scream. She never even touches me that much, usually only with the intention of holding me down, and I still feel no attraction to her body, but sometimes I think her voice does as much to me as any man's anything.  
  
I think threesomes might just a general pattern of theirs, though. It was after Worlds when the three of us and Priscilla started working together on  _Fallen Angels,_  and on the last day before we flew to Reading the three of them arrived at the rink together. I made the mistake of commenting on it. I don't even remember what Melissa said anymore, but Priscilla turned red. It took a long time to get the unwanted mental images that resulted in out of my head.   
  
That was a good summer, after a bad year. There was no way, maybe, I wouldn't have felt mated to Melissa and Denis, even if we'd never touched off the ice. You really do get that feeling of being married when skating with someone else, or two someone elses, and I think when you perform with someone else, or especially create something with someone else, in any medium, there's always at least a slight sexual element to it. There were afternoons where I just wanted to grin at the thought of what the three of us had created together. It made me feel like a good skater again. Then, through nights of passion in hotels across the country, and in Mexico, they brought life back to parts of me that for a year I thought had died forever.  
  
I hadn't been at all celibate that year, but when a long-term relationship breaks up, you can't just pick yourself up and get laid again, or at least I can't. For the first few months afterwards most of the sex I had was out of sheer stubbornness; I didn't take much joy in it. My first time with Stephane, which happened at Skate Canada, was absolutely pathetic in retrospect; we were both hopelessly depressed at that point in our lives, our horrible skating in the competition hadn't helped our moods, and when you consider how we both went through the motions without trying to make it more interesting or pleasurable for the other, it's a wonder he ever let me into his bed again. Yet that summer he did, after Melissa and Denis had brought me back to myself, we shared a single night in Japan that we both remembered very well for the next couple of months. Though even that was limited, because what I normally would have seen, I forced myself not to.  
  
Since I started to let go of my early Puritanical views on sex, I've often still tried to make sex more than just a simple act. I don't necessarily think it needs to be an expression of true eternal love the way I used to, but I've always felt better when I've managed to connect with my partner, come away feeling like I know them better than I had before the sex.  
  
Viktor's a prime example of that. No, I'm not shagging him regularly, contrary to what certain people were claiming in the two weeks before Cup of Russia. In fact, that whole idea is absurd; his wife would never allow that. What she did allow was a single night, early in September, "for professional reasons," Viktor told me. At first that did sound a little strange.  
  
What struck me most about Viktor was his hands. A little calloused, and very hot. They felt really good on my skin, playing my body even before we were naked. In fact, he never undressed completely, which made me feel very vulnerable. He's the only person I've ever had sex with where there was a power imbalance; I've usually kept strictly to my peers. I can't deny that feeling completely at his mercy turned me on. I didn't fear him, at least; in fact, no lover has ever made me feel more safe. It helped that he was very gentle when he touched me and took me, his lips on my shoulders, his shirt pressed against my back, his hands on my throat, over my heart, down my chest, and when one of them settled on my dick I began to lose my head and started begging for I didn't even know what. I've always loved being fucked, the feeling of another man's dick stretching and filling me, but this was beyond that, this was a need to be taken beyond what might even be physically possible. He told me in Russian to let go, and I had no shame, pushing back hard against him, clawing at his bedsheets, moaning and crying and mewling by the time I got close. I remember one of his hands settling on my shoulder just before I came, holding me up as I shuddered and came apart.  
  
He actually wasn't sure what we should do after that. He doesn't do this regularly; most of Galina's pupils are too young, for a start. So he wasn't sure if I should leave or not. In the end he let me stay because it was late, it was a bit of a drive back to my apartment, and we had to be up early tomorrow; no sense in losing any more sleep than you had to.  
  
I didn't sleep, though. I couldn't. He slept soundly, and I watched him sleep. I've always found that interesting, as well as a man's expression when he wakes up in the morning, his stance when he gets up, all of that. But the most telling thing in the morning was when Galina called him.  
  
She knew I was there. It made me blush at the time when Viktor calmly handed me the phone and said she wanted to speak to me, when they'd been talking as if he'd been alone, but really, the whole affair wouldn't have been above board if she hadn't known about it. Nor was there much room to blush; she started talking right away and it was all business, as if there was nothing at all remarkable in my being in Viktor's bedroom that morning. He let me use his shower while he continued to talk to her in the other room, and I listened. I absorbed.  
  
Most of the knowledge gained that night was his. I understood what was meant by "professional reasons," by the time the morning was over. All the time he'd been touching me and fucking me, he'd been gathering information, about me physically, physiologically-I remember I thought it strange the way he had lavished attention on my feet and knees-not that I'd minded much at that moment-but then I knew exactly why he'd done it: so that he'd have a good idea of how sturdy they were; how many jumps it was smart for me to do in a row, things like that. He passed the knowledge on to Galina too, of course, and they both made very good use of it. So for that reason alone I certainly will never regret that night.  
  
But by sharing that morning with him I ended up learning about him as well. His interaction with Galina, which once I hadn't thought important, suddenly turned illuminating, now that I could read his expressions and voice. It lead me to a better understanding of her too, who she was and what she did, and what was in store for me as I returned to form and became a full-fledged project for her. I'd known already that Russian coaches could be obsessive and controlling, and I'd even heard it said that American coaches view coaching as their job while Russian coaches view it as their life, but I never really understood what any of that meant until one of them and her apprentice was happening to me. I understand why Oksana Baiul fled from Galina, and won't even mention her name anymore, and why Viktor Petrenko has settled himself in to live much of his life under her authority. I can't say for sure that I won't do either of those things after 2010, though I like to think I'll find a happy medium between them.  
  
For now, though, I'm her latest work. At one time in my life I wouldn't have been able to stand that, but now I'm glad for it. Glad to be part of her domain in New Jersey. Still, sometimes it makes me feel just a little strange that there are days that when I call my mom at night is the first time all day that I've spoken in English, and that by the time I got to China, when I met with the other members of Team USA I briefly felt like I'd stepped into a foreign country.  
  
Strangely enough, it was Evan who picked up on it first, starting with when he sidled up to me on the bus on the first day and casually mentioned that he and Tanith were no longer exclusive. She'd wanted out, he'd said, because of something going on with all the girls in Detroit that she couldn't tell him about because it was supersecret. "Sisterhoods," Evan had laughed. He was okay with it, though, because he did not mind being free to fuck other guys again, especially me. After teasing me considerably for turning very Russian.  
  
Sometimes I think it's just as well that we're portrayed by the media as being bitter rivals, because the truth would be impossible to explain. I don't think we even like each other as people too much, but we don't dislike each other either, and neither of us sees any reason to turn down the epitome of what each of us finds physically attractive. Evan likes his men soft and pretty, more so, I think, than he likes his women that way, and I've always been a sucker for tall, dark, and handsome.  
  
So he grinned at me after the short program and I winked at him later, and though after the free he was too crabby about losing to talk to me much, by the time the Exhibition was done he'd gotten over it, and the two of us retreated to his hotel room and enjoyed each other in accordance with the arrangement we've had for quite some time. I love watching him in action; he gets all sweaty and flushed and his eyes turn very dark, and he makes the sexiest sounds. He's got a great dick, too; having it in me in pure heaven. When it comes to sex, at least, Tanith's one lucky bitch.   
  
Evan joked once that I went for Stephane after he and Tanith first became exclusive because they both have great hair. Which they do, when they have it; I'm never going to forgive Stephane for that shaving act. Gave me the scare of my life when I first saw the results. But if Evan's ever fucked him, he has to know the resemblance ends there. Evan's all about a friendly, simple good time. Stephane's more like me; he wants a connection. I'd even heard other people say so for years. Like me, he doesn't always go for it; observe our terrible first time at Skate Canada, but he prefers it.  
  
After Cup of Russia ended I went to his hotel room looking forward to a repeat of Japan and the night after the men's free in China: kisses like wine, noses buried in hair, fingers that delicately removed clothing and lips that kissed every inch of exposed skin, French whispered and gasped between joined bodies, hands that curled around each other at the moment of climax. And I got all that and more; I've had few lovers more passionate than Stephane. But afterwards he asked if the stories about me and Viktor were true. All too nonchalantly.  
  
I fell over myself to tell him they weren't; there'd been one night only and there certainly weren't going to be any more. Then he told me it was no big deal and kissed me quickly. There was no way he could truly have been that indifferent. I was forced to think he was feigning it to hide how important the question was to him. He was jealous.  
  
At first that pissed me off. It's not like he's just hanging around waiting for me either; he's got plenty of guys and even a handful of girls. But eventually that just gave way to confusion. Why me? I wasn't even his principal lover, or at least I didn't see myself that way. As far as I was concerned, if he should be possessive of anyone, it should be of Antonio Najarro, not me.  
  
At the Grand Prix Finale it just got worse. Again of course Evan and I intended to have our fun, and this time Stephane displayed open jealousy. Nothing outright, mind you, but when you keep making snide comments about how Evan should keep to his girlfriend when they're at the same event you're really not being subtle. And then...he made me feel guilty. He seriously did. So I left Evan to Tanith completely until the final hours when we ended up having a quickie in the airport bathroom, of all places, and even turned down an extremely promising invitation from several Russians, and spent both of the nights after the competition with Stephane.   
  
"Is this not the best thing?" he asked on the second night, when every muscle in my body was sore with the effort of fucking him, yet I would have done it some more had I been capable. If he'd asked it in Japan I would've said yes without a second thought. But now, I was worried this was going to end with one or both of us nursing a broken heart-except it could only end with him doing so, because I simply was not going to risk mine.  
  
But if I thought that was bad, I got into an even more uncomfortable situation starting at Nationals.  
  
As yet, there has never been a week in my life that has been so just plain crazy. Back spasms, quads, reporters, rivalry, my best short of the year thus far, and as for the tie...I never got around to being that upset about losing, even after the euphoria of skating well wore off, because I was both too tired and too plain weirded out. But it seems someone up above decided my week hadn't been crazy enough, because before the Exhibition Kimmie Meissner got me alone and begged me to take her virginity.  
  
I had to ask her wouldn't she rather have someone closer to her age, or, more importantly, someone who was capable of finding her sexually desirable? She insisted that she wanted me, adding a request to not ask her why.  I finally had to plead my back, and on learning about it she retreated, but hinted she'd come back at Worlds.  
  
Thanks to said back, I figured a single scoop of ice cream was just about the only post-competition indulgence I could handle. But when I got back to my room, just before I could fall down on the bed and go out like a light, Evan walked in. I could smell the sex on him, but it seemed that even if he'd left Tanith fucked to her satisfaction-or possibly even someone else all together-he still had a little left in him. I told him about the back immediately and expected he'd excuse himself. But he grinned and said he was sure we could work around that.  
  
That night was different from all the others. We didn't do more than lie down next to each other and jerk each other off, but there was a tenderness to it that Evan had never had with me before. As I said, it clearly hadn't been his first fuck of the night, and it took him a little longer to really get excited than me, so within a few minutes he had me groaning and shuddering, and with his other hand he cupped my face, his big fingers stroking across my cheek, and looked at me with such wonder in his eyes, maybe as if he was trying to figure me out, I don't know. When I came, he whispered my name and kissed me deeply, and didn't stop until my hands really got going on his dick. It was a real pleasure to watch him come; his face was never so open, and I'd never heard him gasp like that either.   
  
Afterwards there were more kisses, and he asked if my back wasn't hurting too much, or if a massage might make me feel better. Then his behavior was at least partly explained when he told me that unless I went to Four Continents, this would probably be the last time; after that competition he and Tanith would be turning exclusive again. Whatever was happening in Detroit was about to end, for supersecret reasons, apparently, but he assumed Fedor Andreev's new relationship with Tessa Virtue had something to do with it.  
  
I couldn't help but ask if he had any say in this, why it was only Tanith changing things back and forth. He said he'd gone along with both of her decisions because of the timing; six months ago he'd liked the idea of being open, but now he said he was thinking about the future a little, and about their future together. They've now both officially said they're going to be done in two years, and though he didn't spell it out, I think he had decided to marry her if they lasted. Watching Inoue and Baldwin get engaged it had to have been on his mind. He talked about was commitment, and there being different times for different things, and how it would be good to settle down after all your wild oats have been sown, and how this was only the first part of your life, the same way skating was.  
  
Those are general assumptions, of course, and I admit I tend to assume them too. But sometimes I wonder. I believe now that much of the image society portrays of monogamy being the natural order of things, and all good people complying with that no problem, is no more than just that, an image. Yet it was what I desperately wanted once, somewhere in me I think I'll want it again after I retire. I don't think about it too much, but it feels like what should happen at some vague undefined time in the future. Which is not enough for me to think about ethically. I've never yet run into a code of ethics that hasn't seemed hopelessly flawed to me in some way, so I've had to find my own as I've gone along.  
  
But the one thing I'm sure of is that I can't make that commitment now. It would take too much out of me, demand I give more than I can afford to while I'm still skating. And though I've never gotten him to admit it, I think that's what Stephane wants out of me. He has other lovers, too, but I think if I told him I wanted to go exclusive he'd drop them all in a heartbeat. And I can't even afford to be involved with him in a way that would even give me the right to make that request.  
  
I was going to hurt him. I wanted very badly not too. I'd do anything not to hurt him, except, ironically, the one thing I would have to do not to.  
  
Before he left Evan awkwardly shook hands with me, and said something about us seeing a lot of each other around. I think we're both wondering what kind of relationship we're going to end up with this next year and a half, and afterwards. I was telling the truth when I said we would never have even known or cared about each other if it wasn't for skating, but I'm starting to think we're getting a little like the Brians, where we have to be friends at least a little, because we have an understanding of each other noone else can have. I wonder if they ever slept with each other.  
  
I even had an interesting conversation with Alexei Yagudin about this last October. Post-coital, and I finally worked up the nerve to ask if he'd ever bedded Plushenko, if only for a grudgefuck, or something. He told me that hadn't been an option; the guy's genuinely, totally straight. At least he didn't get mad. We talked about Plushenko, and Evan, and strange relationships with rivals, and how in our profession you never even decide what relationship you're going to have with them yourself; the media will make its demands. You have to get hostile, and then you have to grandly shake hands with him years later, whether you want to do either of those things or not. Of course, he then told me that if I ever found myself in Evan's company as we were fleeing for our lives because the building was on fire, that would probably make our perception of each other more positive. Can't deny that one, I suppose. At any rate, it was very gratifying to talk to him like any other bedmate. Like an equal, or close to it.  
  
Much as I really was sad he couldn't make it to Worlds, it was a good thing Evan was such a non-issue there, because things came to a head, first with Stephane, then with Kimmie, but really with both of them at once. The night after the men's long I got another invitation to a Russian orgy, and this time I took it. I was planning to tour with Averbuch at the time, and thinking if I didn't, they probably would have pestered me then, and at that point the orgies would have involved too many ex-spouses I won't touch. Not to mention Alex Smirnov really wanted me there, because it was going to be his partner's first time, and he thought she'd be more comfortable if there was another non-Russian there.  
  
The orgy itself was just fun. Jana and her Sergei pretty much took the lead in things, and I'm afraid I made the mistake of letting them both go down on me, after which I was done for the night. So I ended up just lying there and acting as a pillow for Yuko Kawaguchi as Sergei demonstrated to her just what he can do with his fingers. At some point Maxim Trankov ended up propped on my other side, also fucked out. He then started talking to me about overzealous ice dancers, because he was pretty sure that was a subject on which I could sympathize with him. I think he wanted to get the dirt on Melissa and Denis too, but even in that setting, I couldn't bring myself to talk about that. I learned a good deal about Maxim Shabalin though, which made me really regret he wasn't there either.  
  
Those who didn't have to skate the next morning were eventually kind enough to help those of us who did to soft sleeping surfaces. I ended up in a pair team sandwich for the night, and when we woke up the next morning I had a Japanese girl asking me if all Russians were this crazy in bed. I told her yes, they were, and left it at that.  
  
From the moment I stepped onto the ice the next morning I knew I was in trouble. Stephane's behavior towards me wasn't different at all; I'd given him absolutely no reason to have expected me the previous night and he wasn't going to be angry at me for a slight that didn't exist. But Carolina Kostner was on the warpath. I had to run from her several times, and during one of them I ended up alone with Brian Joubert. I'd thought him safe.  
  
I have to give him props, actually. It couldn't have been easy for him to confess what he had to tell me to lecture me properly. We skaters do not like admitting to any weaknesses, and we particularly don't want to admit to suffering from unrequited love for a competitor. But Brian perhaps thought I knew there was something going on with him, if only because I'd slept with him in Tokyo and observed out loud he seemed a bit distracted, and at any rate explained his situation to me quite frankly. He'd loved Stephane for years, hoped when he was younger for something significant with him, been rejected for that, and waited, hoping Stephane might change his mind, and told himself he would move on if Stephane seriously found someone else. Now he was trying to do so. He had a girl he truly had very deep feelings for, and for her sake he wanted to let go of Stephane. Technically he and Valentina weren't exclusive, but neither had slept with anyone else since they'd hooked up, and that might be a step they were going to take very shortly, but before he made his decision, he had to know how Stephane stood.  
  
In turn, I was honest with him. He understood completely, at least; there's noone in the figure skating community who wouldn't. But he advised me that many were thinking things were getting more serious between Stephane and me than they could be. It seemed the previous night after I'd given Tomas the singing card he'd kept going on about how lucky Stephane was. He told me I needed to repeat what I'd said to him to Stephane, no matter how painful that might be for us both.  
  
So I told myself I'd take him to my hotel room that night, sit him down, and say what needed to be said. But Carolina finally managed to corner me first, just after the Exhibition ended.  
  
She wasn't in a good mood. Her week had been up and down in the extreme, winning the silver medal, then being told to her face by multiple members of the Asian media that she didn't deserve it. The previous night she'd ended up in bed with both Stephane and Tomas, but Stephane had been too depressed to do anything but watch as she and Tomas fucked, and obviously Tomas had been deeply upset. So she started in on me with an account of just how Stephane had been the previous night, and what kind of insensitive bastard could I have been running off with my precious Russians.  
  
And then Kimmie Meissner burst into the room, asking if I was available that night, before she realized Carolina was in it.  
  
When Carolina got even angrier at me, Kimmie ended up explaining what she wanted me for. That calmed Carolina down a little, but she still told Kimmie I had an unbreakable date with Stephane that night, and she wanted to lose her virginity, she would have to do it with both of us in the bed. At that point I asked Kimmie if she wouldn't rather Stephane do it, because he's the sort of homoflexible that I was getting the feeling was what she really wanted, and I could always meet with him afterwards. She hesitated, then said she didn't know, but maybe we could both come to her room that night.  
  
Stephane agreed to it, but then Carolina decided to run more interference, and when we got to Kimmie's room, she had already shown up with Tomas, and was basically trying to pimp him out to Kimmie. I pointed out Kimmie didn't really know Tomas at all, but I've been learning recently it's kind of hard to argue with Carolina. Which meant in the end the first plan of action was, I'm afraid, for Kimmie to be deflowered like one of those little girls at that Texas FLDS compound, by Tomas, with Carolina, Stephane, and I all watching. I suggested we should leave, but Kimmie said she'd feel more comfortable if she wasn't left alone with him.  
  
You can't say Tomas was a bad choice for the task at all; he's a very kind soul. He went down on Kimmie first, and from everything I know about women that was very good of him indeed. Kimmie clutched at my hand as he did it, squeezing hard as she came. The sounds she made were odd though; there seemed to be a strange sadness to them. Towards the end her throat strangled them all.  
  
The real trouble started when he tried to enter her. He was halfway in when she scooted away. She looked down and squeaked, "No blood!" Carolina pointed out that Kimmie had spent her entire life pulling her leg above her head; of course there was going to be no blood. Kimmie looked relieved.  
  
Tomas tried again. But Kimmie clearly didn't like it; she screwed her eyes shut and looked away. Then Carolina said something in her native Ladin that made Stephane gasp and poor Tomas just lose his erection completely.  
  
At this point Carolina urged Kimmie to just consider it done. "He do sexual act to you," she pointed out, "you come. He even penetrate you a little. I do not think you need call yourself virgin now." But Kimmie wouldn't listen. The other three of us all backed Carolina up; it was clear that for whatever reason this was simply all she could take, and this wasn't the kind of thing we wanted to see. But she insisted she wanted to go all the way.  
  
Tomas absolutely refused to continue the act, saying he honestly couldn't get it up. Stephane offered to try. How Kimmie avoided feeling humiliated as he took off his pants and ladybug boxers and started working himself up with his hands I have no idea, but she just said, "Take your shirt off too," which he did.  
  
"Please," Stephane begged as much as assured her as he got the condom on and he got into position, "do not feel frightened." And Kimmie...she just kind of looked at him with almost a child's trust, and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
He put her at her ease. I don't think anyone else could've done it, but Stephane...when you look into his eyes you know he could never hurt you. She knew it.   
  
Kimmie and Stephane have never really gotten to know each otherwise, but that night, between his empathy and the rollercoaster of emotions they'd both been through that night and that week, all they needed to know was each was as human as the other to draw up as much passion for each other as the most ardent of lovers. They explored each other's bodies while looking in each other's eyes, her hands clumsy and inexperienced, but you could tell he didn't care, they kissed while melting into each other, they hissed syllables to each other that might have been English or might have been French or might have been nonsense. It was amazing to watch Stephane in his passion from the outside, especially having already experienced it from the inside and knowing what it was like for Kimmie to be heated by his fire. But she was beautiful too, this creature coming to life for the first time, clawing at Stephane's back and leaving tiny red marks on his skin as the ecstasy took over, and then suddenly rolling him over and pinning him to the bed, hissing as she rode him hard. I was deeply humbled and honored to be able to witness this.  
  
Then when they were done, she gasped, looked around like a deer in headlights, and suddenly started sobbing her head off. Stephane pulled her close and rocked her while he crooned soothing French to her.  
  
I was shocked. I was winded. I was confused. I was also painfully hard, but to touch myself then seemed sacrilegious.   
  
Carolina talked quietly to Tomas, so quietly I couldn't even tell what language they were using. Then, when Kimmie had calmed down, she said, very gently but firmly, "Kimmie, what happen at Skate America?"  
  
Kimmie turned white. She shook her head.  
  
"No shame," said Carolina. "I think you feel shame, and that is wrong. Trust us, Kimmie. We want to help, all four of us, you know that. You think this will help, I think, but this will not cure you."  
  
Kimmie shook her head again. We heard her whisper, "I was able to skate well enough the next day, why..." Then she shook her head. "Not in front of..."  
  
"The two of us need to be alone," Carolina announced.  
  
Tomas left, saying he'd be waiting for her. But when I tried to stand up, it became obvious I was too aroused to be walking too much. Then Kimmie abruptly decided she didn't want to be left completely at Carolina's mercy after all, and she directed us into her bathroom. "If I call for help," she tried to joke.  
  
Stephane grabbed my arm with one hand and a spare condom with the other, dragged me to the bathroom, and locked us in. Then I barely had time to get out of my clothes before he had shoved me into the shower, turned it on, pinned me to the far wall, and proceeded to ravish me with his mouth while I tried to make as little noise as possible.   
  
We could hear Carolina and Kimmie's voices in the other room as we washed each other off, and then just stood there and held each other until the water turned cold. We wrapped ourselves in towels, and borrowed one of Kimmie's older-looking combs to use on our hair. Then we finally had that talk.  
  
I couldn't get him to admit to much. One thing that did bother me was that he admitted he is now seriously considering retirement. If he goes that route, he'll feel even more of a desire to settle. But most of my questions about what he wanted he deflected by stating that he would not ask for anything he knew I couldn't give. I did make it clear that in that case, there wasn't much he could ask for.  
  
He did, however, talk me into giving him priority from then on. That meant that whenever we were in the same place at the same time and both in the mood, we would automatically spend the night with each other. It's often a first step towards a more serious relationship; I can name a number of examples of people who gave each other priority and are now more official, so I was hesitant about it. But ultimately, it's a ridiculously small thing, and I couldn't bring myself to be stingy like that.   
  
Eventually we just changed the subject to Kimmie, and what we both were now afraid happened to her at Skate America. It wasn't something either of us wanted to believe, that someone there so flagrantly violated the trust of the very top of the elite skating community. We knew such things we done, of course; we'd heard about instances of it,mostly publically Tonya Harding, but noone's ever prepared for it. There was the reason, in the end, that I could so freely cavort with my rival and let one of my coaches fuck me; the trust is simply so strong, that we're all in this together, that once you get past the lower levels of skate sabotogue and such(and even there, there are lines you _do not_ cross), none of us who make it to the Grand Prixes would ever deliberately maliciously cause that kind of injury to any of our top skaters. If someone she counted as being under that trust so brutally broke it, leaving her suspicions to play mind games with her at every event, every time she was alone with someone, no wonder Kimmie's skating went to hell.  
  
I think there's hope for her, though. I don't think her trust was destroyed completely. Now I think I understand why instead of minding all the witnesses, she preferred them being there, because she was able to believe at least one of us was still good, and would have intervened if either Tomas or Stephane had betrayed her. And she trusted Stephane in the end. He was able to vouch for that.  
  
It'll take a long time for her to recover from this. Most of the outside world continuing to write her off won't help either. But I think she proved that night she can do it, if she wants to. That's another question, if she'll want to. It would be much easier for her to turn her back and walk away from skating. None of us can affect that; that's a decision for her to make alone.  
  
After a few hours Carolina put Kimmie to bed and called us out of the bathroom. We left her sleeping peacefully and parted from Carolina in the elevator; she kissed us both on the mouth and neither of us minded. By unspoken agreement, we went back to my hotel room together. I didn't think we'd have sex, though; we were simply too exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Indeed, at first we weren't able to do any more than fall asleep curled up in each other's arms.  
  
We woke up in the early dawn and kissed. We looked at each other. Then I started to slide Stephane out of his shirt.  
  
I'm not sure any description could ever hope to do justice to what happened next. I fucked him the way he loves to be fucked, face to face, tangled up in his limbs, slow and deep. The sun rose and fell over his face and body through the open window, playing on his skin as he writhed, as if he was made of gold. And, much as I wouldn't have believed it before, he'd actually been holding back with me before that morning. But now he clenched my hair and drew me close and without words demanded me. And I gave. I gave, and gave, and gave, and I couldn't stop. I wanted to brand myself with Stephane, I wanted to get so deep inside him he'd feel it with every guy who fucked him afterwards when we were apart. He called me  _"ange dechu,"_  and I whispered back, "mine," and came like the world was ending.  
  
What came out of it was what I'd known all along, that Stephane is an amazing, incredible, passionate man, the most beautiful I'll ever know. He deserves so much better than me.  
  
After Worlds I briefly thought I'd never have sex again, that that one encounter with Stephane had ruined me permanently, because nothing, not even whatever sex I happened to have with him later, would ever compare to how I felt that morning. That was a once in a lifetime experience, and one, though it shocks me to think this, I wouldn't trade for Olympic Gold.  
  
I saw Kimmie again a week later in Harlem. On the surface, of course, she was as cheerful as ever. I asked her how she was and she chirped a quick, "Fine," and changed the subject. After which I asked Evan, Tanith, and Ben about her. I was worried about having to explain, but word about our escapade had gotten around, not all the details but enough of them, so I just had to say I had reason to be concerned and they were quite happy to talk to me. All three agreed she'd seemed a little out of sorts at the Skate America gala, but nothing they'd thought really worrying at the time. Ben was of the opinion she'd been quieter than usual during the tour so far. I wasn't really expecting they'd be able to tell me more; all skaters hide their injuries well.  
  
Somehow that night I ended hanging out alone with Tanith. It was the first time we'd had a good conversation in ages, which made it a little bittersweet; there's no denying we've grown apart. I think she sought me out though, because she had things to bitch about, things she couldn't talk about to Evan, and even less so to Ben.  
  
She could, on the other hand, talk to me about Fedor Andreev, because I knew what he was like in bed; we'd swapped boyfriends one night back in the day. He hypnotizes you. One moment you're talking quite reasonably to him, the next you're on your back with your legs spread willing to let him do whatever he wants to you. Back when he did that to me, I thought him alluring and irresistible. But now when I consider it; I find it repulsive and frightening. I'm all for being swept off my feet, but there was something oily about Fedor that I didn't see until I was older and wiser. I think the same's true for Tanith. Their breakup was amicable enough, but you never would think so from hearing her talk about him now. She also talked about his clear lack of respect for Tessa, how she can't believe Tessa won't listen to her, and seems to think she's jealous. "I'm not," Tanith had said in a voice that made me wonder if she just might be. "But I don't know if I can watch as he plays with her the way he did with me."  
  
At that time, according to Evan, Tanith and Ben had been known to disappear together for sometimes an hour at a time, and come back looking tired and apprehensive, and people had been walking in on them having conversations which they abruptly ended as soon they realized they weren't alone. Tanith had flat-out refused to tell him what was going on, but he was able to make a pretty good guess. His assumption was based off professional reasons, of course, the official excuses when they formally announced the coaching change later; he had never been able to get why everyone in Detroit thought it such a brilliant idea for three of the top handful of ice dancing teams in the world to share a coach. But then again, there are other things Tanith said to me that night, about him, completely apart from the whole business with Fedor and the other ice dancers, that things between her and him aren't the same anymore either.  "I sometimes feel like this summer will make or break us," she said.  She couldn't be sure which, I have no idea how that will pan out.  Towards the end of our conversation she said, "I'm starting to think the figure skating community is a little too open about sex. I think it leads to too many people being hurt."

There wasn't much I could say to this. If I'd been younger, I might have talked freely. Tanith and I used to know all the dirty details about each other's sex lives. Not only have we swapped boyfriends to see what the other one's like in bed, but we used to tell each other names, dates, things like that. She knew that I waited and saved my virginity for Drew, and I knew she totally did not.  I didn't mind talking about it to a friend back then.  
  
But the years have closed me up. Even as I've turned more liberated sexually, I've grown more reluctant to talk about what has somehow become a much more private and personal experience. Perhaps because once upon a time if sex wasn't typical teenage mishaps, it was theoretical, but as I've become an adult in first one way, than another, then yet another one, I've stumbled into things much too sacred and powerful to talk about to other people, especially this past year when I've really felt properly "grown up" for the first time in my life. How could I speak to someone else about what it was like to be loved back to life by Melissa and Denis, or to be taken and held by Viktor, or to share pleasure and tenderness with Evan hours after fighting tooth and claw with him on the ice, or to watch Kimmie push past the terrible thing that might have been done to her and find her own sexual awakening? And how could I ever describe what happened between Stephane and me that Monday morning when I literally can't even find words for it?  
  
So I kept my thoughts, both for and against her argument, to myself, and let her ramble on. She talked about Brooke and Meryl, and how nothing's the same in Detroit for anyone at all, and she wouldn't be surprised if it amused Fedor, that by seducing Tessa and disrupting their circle he could do damage to everyone's friendships. At that point she started crying. I brought her tissues.  
  
The last thing she said stuck with me. "Johnny," she said, "if you can find someone else to love you and you can love, no matter how dangerous it might seem, I really do think now it would better if you just grabbed onto him and never let go."  
  
I can't quite believe her. It would be too easy to, too convenient. Not to mention it wouldn't just be myself I'm risking; I think Stephane is insisting in putting himself in some danger, but I can keep him out of a lot of it, I think. I will not do Stephane any more harm than I have to. If I'm resolved on one point, it's that. But now I'm terrified of seeing him again in less than three weeks.  
  
I've been with Melissa and Denis again recently. Our first night ended with me lying limp, now literally tied to the bedpost, watching as Melissa climbed on top of her husband and had her way with him, and then all I could see was how careful they were not to put any of her weight on his injured knee. Secrets of the bedroom indeed, some of which you're not sure you want to know. He's been on the ice now, but I'm left waiting and wondering.   
  
Again I had trouble sleeping, and watched them sleep, pressed together, and I remembered one night, when, ironically, we didn't have sex, in their hotel room after the free dance in Tokyo. Melissa cried for me that night when I couldn't, and Denis held us both close and talked to us in Russian. They had gone through some domestic turbulences that year; she had never liked his choice of a new coach and how he was still making all their decisions even though, as she saw it, the time when she was just the inferior partner having to concentrate on matching him was passed, and when it didn't work out as well as they'd hoped she lay a lot of blame on him. Yet there they were, able look at and hold each other in a way that clearly said, _You are my world_. Everything they were able to give me that summer was from what they've shared between themselves. I've wondered if this was what marriage was like, being able to shout at each other, and then still hold each other close when the tears set in.  
  
There's a far more sexual overtone to the trio number we're working on now. I don't think I could've done this number nearly as well at this time last year. So much of what I've been through is poured into it. Relief and joy. Trust and willingness. Understanding and curiosity. Concern and sympathy. Tenderness and passion.  
  
Love. Not love like most people think of love, not love that can easily be defined and categorized, but so much love of all kinds I wonder how I haven't burst.


End file.
